


Last Slice!

by blameless_nameless



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Cooking Competition AU, Even Mikasa's parents ok, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff, Literally everyone - Freeform, M/M, My First Fanfic, Rating May Change, Slow Build, This is a happy story!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2658425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blameless_nameless/pseuds/blameless_nameless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren Jaeger grew up watching his father cooking. He was mesmerized by how his father moved around the kitchen and by what he could create. So, as soon as he could be trusted to hold a knife, he knew - he was going to be a chef. And what's the best way to become a respectable chef?</p><p>Entering a nationally-televised cooking competition show, of course!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Humble Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, okay. First fic ever, wow. So be nice, and all that jazz.  
> Thanks to sulkingrain and her anons on Tumblr for the AU and for basically plotting the whole thing for me, lol.  
> I hope you guys like it, because I'm drowning in nerves right now.  
> I'm open to any and all suggestions! Since it started as a bunch of people coming up with these ideas, it could be fun to keep that ball rolling. So if you want to contribute in any way at all, just shoot me a message!  
> I'm also on [Tumblr!](http://staplesfics.tumblr.com) (ayyye)  
> Also, sorry if this is a bit... Well, since it's gonna be a long ass fic, gotta have some backstory, y'know! And lots of other characters are coming later!
> 
> Without further ado:

_35th Annual_  
_Reiss Regional Cooking Festival_  
_Maria Level_  
_Improvisational Competition_  
_~ Seeking Competitors ~_  
_~ Ages 10-15 ~_  
_Register Today!_  
_Please visit our website for more details_  
_or call…_

This is it. The event Eren Jaeger had been anticipating since the first day his father had allowed him to help out in his kitchen. Since the first time he watched him move carefully about the room, checking pots and chopping vegetables in an effort to orchestrate another perfect meal. He was inspired from the first moment to create edible art. Temporary masterpieces. And now was his moment. He was finally ten years old. Finally old enough to enter the cooking festival where all the greats made their debut – the Reiss Regional Cooking Festival.

The Festival had originally been started by some up-and-coming politician born with a silver spoon in his mouth and too much cash to blow. He was, reportedly, a very strange guy who just happened to love food. The festival itself started off as a bit of a joke, until it was taken over by some other wealthy a-hole who was just better at managing a competition. Soon after she took over, it became the most prestigious competition in the region, as it remains today.

There are three levels of competition: Sina Level, for competitors age 26 and up; Rose Level, for ages 16-25; and Maria Level, for ages 10-15.  
Maria was where Eren would make his mark, he was certain of it. And it was finally happening!

As soon as his father parked the car, Eren leapt from the seat, slamming the door behind him, and barreled toward the arena’s entrance, tools rattling in the case slung over his shoulder. He didn’t even hear his parents yelling after him as he turned and waved, shouting at them to “hurry up, I wanna _cook_ already!”

It took a while to check in, so while his father took care of the paperwork, Eren decided he would scope out his competition.

A girl with a long, brown ponytail and a bright smile talking animatedly with her family. She was wearing one of those shirts with a macaroni noodle and a wedge of cheese that read _Soulmates_. Eren decided that was pretty cool.

A shy boy who was absurdly tall for Maria Level. Eren wondered what they put in his milk to make him that _huge_. He wasn’t as big as the adults, but he towered over all the other contestants. He mostly kept to himself, his mother sitting straight on the bench beside him, scribbling leisurely at his form on a clipboard. He just held his toolkit to his chest, waiting calmly. Although he looked a little nervous, this probably wasn’t his first competition.

A mean-looking blond girl who was doing the same as Eren. Scoping out the competition. Watching. Analyzing. When she met his gaze, Eren straightened up a little and lifted his chin. Their gazes held for a moment, and then they moved on.

The last was a pale boy who stood alone, slumped against the wall, headphones trailing from his ears, his forms already filled out and arranged neatly in his tense grip. His dark hair shielded his face until the girl with the cool t-shirt stumbled over his sneakers on her way to the bathroom. She threw an apology and another one of her bright smiles over her shoulder and continued on her way. The boy just lifted his head and clicked his tongue before looking around the room for someone to glare at.

He chose Eren, who tried not to flinch as those cold, gray eyes bore into his, as sharp as his brand-new stainless steel knives. He felt like a piece of meat on a cutting board, just an object for skilled hands to carve. But he was still Eren, and Eren never backed down from a challenge. The fire in his eyes met the ice in the pale boy’s, and they both smirked. To them, there were no other contestants – this was just between the two of them.

*****

Before they knew it, they were ushered to their stations and told to prepare for the competition. They were arranged in a straight row facing a moderately large crowd for their level of competition, with their ingredients on shelves behind them, currently hidden by black sheets.

They were arranged in order by first name, since that was how they would be referred to during the competition. The mean-looking blonde, Annie, at the first station to the far right. To the far left was Sasha, her smile even brighter with anticipation. At the second station beside Annie stood the tall boy, Bertholdt. He was the reason the crowd was a little larger than usual. Eren could hear whispers of _prodigy_ and _genius_ amongst the spectators, but he paid them no mind. Bertholdt was clearly the favorite to win today, but that’s because they’d never met Eren Jaeger.

Eren himself took the centermost station, nestled between the prodigy and – Eren looked to the boy on his left – his rival. Levi. It was clear from the crowd’s response that he’d done well in this festival before. He must have felt Eren’s eyes, because he snapped his head around without warning and fixed his cold stare on him.

“The hell do you want, brat?”

Eren lifted his chin indignantly. “For you to eat my compost, jerk.”

Levi raised a thin eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be food humor?”

Eren’s pulse thumped in his ears. Was that not a good line? Play it cool, Eren. “Cut me some slack, I’m only 10. Jerk.”

“Is that the only insult you know?”

“Shut up and say your prayers. You’re going _down_.”

“Tch.”

They were so immersed in their trash-talk that they didn’t notice the commentator behind them until heavy hands landed on each of their shoulders. They both jolted in place.

“Something to add, boys?” he asked them in a menacing whisper.

They said nothing, but immediately straightened their posture and faced forward. The commentator gracefully took that response as a _no_ and continued on.

“You’ve met your contestants,” he boomed into his microphone, “Now let’s reveal today’s ingredients.”

Eren and the others turned to watch as their black sheets were thrown away from the shelves.

They each had different ingredients, but they were all provided with the basics. Eggs. Flour. Sugar. Butter. Milk. Eren’s eyes swept over his stock – spices, peppers, meat, and the like – and began forming an idea. While he did so, he decided to sneak a peek at Levi’s stock as well. His ingredients were considerably milder, even sweet. Eren gazed wistfully at the large pile of tomatoes on Levi’s shelf before his eyes landed on his own, disappointing two. _Nothing tomato-based, then_ , he thought with a huff. No time to dwell on that. He flexed his fingers.

“Chefs, your time begins…”

All five contestants’ eyes were locked on their shelves, ears deaf to all but one sound:

“Now!”

Eren scrambled into action, diving for his desired ingredients. They want to give him spicy ingredients? Fine. He’ll give them spicy food.

He chopped, kneaded, and mixed his way around his station, frequently checking up on Levi’s progress beside him. They shouted taunts at each other over the crashing of pots and pans and the scraping of blades on cutting boards. Before they knew what had happened, they had reached their last minute. Annie, Bertholdt, and Levi were all veterans who had learned how to manage their time well. They all finished with about 20 seconds to spare, while Eren and Sasha rushed to use every last second. Despite that, every contestant successfully plated their dishes, and could now step back and admire their handiwork.

Eren traded a glance with Levi. The boy was scowling, but his gray eyes were shining with pride. At least, they were until they had taken in Eren’s appearance. Fluffy white flour dusted his hair and the tip of his nose. Dark stains and wet spots littered his apron, and there was an egg shell sticking to his rolled up sleeve. Levi sneered and muttered something Eren thought sounded like _filth_.

Three judges made their rounds, tasting each dish without comment, only taking detailed notes. Annie and Bertholdt’s dishes seemed successful enough, even if Eren thought they looked bland.

Soon enough, the judges arrived at Eren’s station. He put on a wide smile to greet them, and they nodded their heads in response before tasting his dish. Savory puff pastries with a kick! He had to use a quicker method for the dough than he would’ve liked, but since he’d always wanted to compete, he spent a lot of time practicing these time-saving methods, and felt confident in the result. He watched attentively as they each took a bite, chewed, and swallowed, and flinched as all three started coughing and hacking into their napkins. He heard Levi snickering to his left, but he wouldn’t let that get to him. He had planned for this.

“They’re really spicy, huh!” Eren laughed and motioned to three little cups on the counter, filled to the brim with milk. The judges gulped them down with relief and let the liquid soothe their burning throats. They took their notes and moved on. 

Things ran along smoothly from then on, then they were dismissed to clean their stations while the judges left to deliberate. Despite cleaning everything _twice_ , Levi finished before any of the other competitors, and threw Eren a smirk before taking a seat in the contestants’ box.

By the time Eren had finished, albeit a bit clumsily, only Sasha was left cleaning, humming cheerfully to herself. Once she was finished, they only had to wait a few minutes for the judges to emerge with the results.

That Bertholdt guy won. Eren got fourth. _Fourth_. He only placed better than Sasha because she used too many potatoes. But more importantly, Levi got third. He lost to Levi. _Levi beat him_.

“Wipe that stupid scowl off your face before it becomes permanent.”

Eren’s eyes snapped up to meet those cold, gray ones. “That’s dumb! It won’t be permanent.”

“You’re probably right.” Levi’s gaze softened. “Look, kid, you’re the youngest one here. You should’ve lost. _Would’ve_ lost, if it weren’t for Potato Girl over there, but you didn’t. You’re talented, sure, but this wasn’t your day.”

Eren only dropped his head to glare at his toes.

“Tch. Whatever.” The hard edge returned to Levi’s voice. He turned to leave. “Better luck next time, brat.”

Eren roared back to life, fists clenched by his sides. “I don’t need luck. I’ll just get better, and next time we see each other, I’ll crush you with one hand! _I’ll beat you next time, you big jerk!_ ”

Levi adjusted the strap on his shoulder with a smirk. “As if,” he scoffed, toolkit swinging by his hip as he strode off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk, I just really like teenaged Levi with a competitive streak!


	2. Announcements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, is it Tuesday already? Oops. I meant to have this out Sunday. But, y'know, life happened. Uh.  
> Shit, sorry!  
> Late _and_ short, I'm really on a roll here.  
>  Anyway, always open to comments or suggestions if you're into that, feel free to point out mistakes, all that jazz.  
> Find me on [Tumblr!](http://staplesfics.tumblr.com)  
> Enjoy!

The kitchen was warm. The sunset poured in through the living room window, covering everything in sight with its golden glow. I watched from the counter while my two best friends knelt on the wooden floor, arguing over which movie to watch that night. I mindlessly chopped veggies to sauté, and let the smell of hens baking in the oven wash over me. I was so at peace that I couldn’t believe that only that morning, I was a nervous wreck, waiting on a stinking phone call.

“Eren? Anybody awake in there?”

I had to blink a few times to regain myself. “Ah- sorry, Mikasa. Lost in thought.”

She waved off my apology, but Armin just leaned on his wrist on the bar and muttered, “No kidding.”

“Hey!” I whipped my knife up to point at the tip of his stupid, cute nose. “You sass me, you don’t eat, got it?”

“Mm, then I’ll just order delivery. Maybe some pasta from that pizza place on 4th…”

“You wanna get hit?” I narrowed my eyes, intending to scare him into submission, but he just traced shapes into the countertop with his fingers, purposefully avoiding my gaze. Smartass. “You know as well as I do that that’s not _real_ pasta. I can’t believe you’d insult me like this in my own kitchen! This is a holy place, Arlert!”

“Yeah, yeah.” He rested his chin on his arms. “Feed me already!”

We stared at each other for a moment. Mikasa looked as though she was ready to scold us any second.

“Impatient piece of shit,” I muttered, fully audibly in such close quarters. There was another short pause before we dropped the act and collapsed into a fit of laughter.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Mikasa tugged my ear as punishment. “Boys are such idiots. You almost finished or what?”

“Almost. Set the table for me?”

When we had all finished our respective duties, Mikasa helped me carry the food to the table.

“You guys had better appreciate these hens. They’ve been marinating since the fricking Big Bang.”

As if I needed to tell them that. The look of pure bliss on their faces as they stuffed the tender meat in their traps told me all I needed to know.

We settled into cheerful conversation while we ate. Idle gossip about Mikasa’s coworkers and whoever Armin was into that night, or what was going on in their classes as they inched ever closer to their degrees. Armin had some crazy stories about the Lit majors’ monthly game night. From what I hear, they can get pretty wild. Someone even got arrested once, if Armin’s to be believed. The way he talked about them made every party I’d ever been to sound tame. I need to get invited to one of those parties one day.

Mm, a problem for another day. There was something bigger weighing on our minds at the moment.

Mikasa decided not to waste any more time beating around the bush.

“So, Eren,” she began. “They were supposed to call you today, right? How’d the audition go?"

I had known this was coming. I had wanted to tell them a bit differently. I mean, I wanted to be the one to bring it up. Because, well, what if it went badly? Having it brought up out of the blue would fucking _hurt_ then, you know?

I mean, it _didn’t_ go badly. But they didn’t know that!

Armin whined my name. “You’ve been a nervous wreck for _days_. We know you know.”

A little suspense won’t kill them.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I pushed back my chair and wandered into the kitchen for a bottle of wine and glasses.

Mikasa glared at me through narrowed eyes. “Eren, why is there wine?”

I filled each glass with deep red liquid, and its sweet aroma filled the air around us.

Armin noticed, of course. “Eren, is this–” he deliberately stopped himself to slow his speech. “Is this your special Merlot? The one you were saving?”

I said nothing, only leaned against the back of my chair and swirled sweet wine in my glass. This is what you get for mentioning _Giovanni’s Oven_ in _my_ kitchen.

“ _EREN_ ,” they yelled together. I couldn’t hide my wide smile anymore.

“Fine, fine!” I raised my glass. “Set your Tivos, assholes. I’m gonna be on TV!”

*****

_Levi’s POV_

If there was one thing I hated, it was people. There are a lot of reasons why. They’re noisy. They get rowdy in large groups. They’re completely, ineffably stupid. But if I had to pick one reason to hate people, only one, it would be this: they are demanding. Needy. Always selfishly trying to get something from someone else, without regard to their wishes. Always bothering, prodding, _demanding_. As if I didn’t have anything better to do than fulfill their desires.

A shrill ring filled my apartment.

See?

It’s for this reason that I keep my distance. It’s for this reason that I don’t encourage affection. It’s for this reason that I keep my phone on silent. Usually.

But I, too, have goals to achieve. Things I want. Things to do.

That, and my restaurant is going under.

So when Hanji, the overly-friendly sous-chef from the restaurant across the street, paid me a visit to tell me she was auditioning for one of those cooking competition shows, my interest, clearly, piqued. Not because I _wanted_ to be on a TV show, or in _any_ environment with that degree of forced social interaction, but because I _needed_ to. Because I had long ago come to understand that my particular style does not appeal to the masses. Expensive, high class dining is, frankly, not easily marketable. As horrible as it was, I needed exposure in order to keep my head afloat. And that was that.

That god awful ring pierced my eardrum again, and I slammed my whisk onto the counter, sending cream flying. Fuck. I’ll clean up once the tart is in the fridge. First, phone. I knew who it was before I even picked it up.

“ _You promised you’d call!_ ” I’ll never in my life get used to that shrill fucking voice.

“Hanji. How are you?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“Positively distraught. You said you’d call as soon as you knew!”

I picked up my whisk and set back to work. “No, _you_ said you wanted to know. I never promised a thing.” Stop playing with her, you idiot. You’re just drawing this out further.

“ _Levi_ ,” she whined. “Tell me!”

“Who said they’ve even called me yet?” _What did I_ just _fucking say, you masochist?_

“Don’t bullshit me. They said I was the last one they called! I know you know, so spit it out already!”

I paused for a moment, preparing for the storm. “Alright, fine, yeah. I made it.”

“Levi, _shut up_.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to–”

“Shut. _UP._ ”

“What did I just–”

Hanji squealed into the receiver. “ _We’re gonna be on TV together!_ ”

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dogs are so funny. It's so simple. I literally just have to make an excited face to get them stirred up. Not even that much. Just eye contact, and their ears perk up as high as they'll go, and their tails start wagging... Dogs are nuts, man.  
> Also, I really love cute, affectionate, platonic eremin. You know Leslie and Ann from Parks and Rec? Yeah. I want it like that. I think I'm gonna make it a thing.


	3. [ANNOUNCEMENT]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is an illusion. A social construct. It's not real. Um.

Hey! So, okay wow. Three whole years. Jesus. I'm sorry about that, though it looks like nobody's subscribed anymore, so that's a thing. ((EDIT: nope, I'm just dumb and forgot how ao3 works. YEET.))

Whatever, down to business. I'm stepping away from fanfic, almost certainly for good. Thing is, it's not because I don't like these stories anymore? I'm just not involved in fandom generally anymore, and I'm working on original stuff anyway. But all my in-progress fics don't have to be over just because I'm not writing them anymore. So I've been turning this idea over in my head for a while now.

I could, maybe, give the stories away? It's easy af to add a co-author. Hand over the baton, step away. Job done.

I wouldn't be completely leaving you out in the cold or anything, either. I have varying amounts of notes and half-written chapters for each of the fics I currently have in-progress. Of course I'd share those, and we could chat about direction and details and surprise twists and intention and inspirations and whatever else we want. It'll be great!

Ideally, the handoff will be collaborative, and then you'll be free do do what you want with any fic you take on, whether that's a complete change in direction or a quick end or continued collaboration.

Anyway, this AU is super fun, so I'd love for it to continue in my absence (for a change).

If you're interested in taking over this or any other project of mine, send me a message! @staplesfics on Tumblr!


End file.
